Fate and Destiny and two distinct concepts that hold two distinct connotations which must not be confused for one another.


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    -Will-


    [08:40 am], [Southwest Suburbs]


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    I live in a small house in the suburbs southwest of the city. I usually walk the 10-minute distance to the bus stop from my house and wait for the 08:40 bus that I ride to work. It’s a 40-minute ride, give or take a few minutes, just in time for my 09:30 shift.


    Sitting at the bus stop I take stock of my bags to make sure I have everything, even though I already checked and double checked everything before I left the house. It never hurt to be prepared, something I learned from the ever-changing nightmares I have.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The bus is on time today. I get on it and pay with the swipe card I have and take a seat at the middle right behind the driver; it gives me a side window that sees a lot of sunlight and sights on the way to work. I take a look around the bus, the same people board every day.


    I never really got to know any of them too personally, I only overheard some names here and there. So, I made up backstories of what could be possible and impossible.


    The teen in a blue hat is Marty, he goes to school on the way to downtown. Not much interesting there, but I did notice he changed from glasses to contacts and is growing a bit taller. That speaks volumes.


    The old lady in the floral jacket is not on the bus every day, but she is on it most Mondays. I imagine she must a High-Witch in a Coven somewhere. She enjoys taking care of her cats and grandchildren, probably in that order. She also likes to take the bus for some mysterious reason. I haven’t figured that one out, yet.


    The bus driver changes between your average joe Jon and the confirmed dream whisperer….


    <Scree>


    The stopping of the bus jolts me out of my thinking mode. I quickly take a look at my watch for the time and notice just as it changes.


    09:03 am.


    The hairs on the back of my neck rise up as I take a glance at the door. Blond hair with a platinum finish. A light red shirt that might as well have screamed blood, which reads ''Dying to Live''. As our eyes cross and I take in the woman I’m looking at, two thoughts cross my mind.


    ‘She is beautiful’


    ''I''m going to miss the bank


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    My name is William O’brian, and today, I die.